


Predator & Prey

by Antigone_Rex



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, In which Roy is a bounty hunter and Riza has a bounty on her head..., bounty hunter AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_Rex/pseuds/Antigone_Rex
Summary: In another world, Riza is framed for a crime she did not commit. There's a bounty on her head. Among her pursuers is a man who wields a dark, familiar power... The only questions was: how fast could she run?  Royai Bounty Hunter AU.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 112
Kudos: 127





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Folks,
> 
> Three things and then I'll only say a few words here and there to query what you folks want:  
> 1) Gonna keep this one loose and easy. It's full gratuitousness and that's that. Rated M for future content - you are safe for now.  
> 2) I am open to requests on where this story will go. This one is truly for you guys. I want this story to be gratifying.  
> 3) Get ready for some good old fashioned Hurt!Roy and Hurt!Riza.  
> Here we go!  
> A

Footsteps sounded from the street behind her, echoing hollowly off the brick walls. He was uncomfortably close. She thought she lost him during that last, unexpected turn under the railway crossing, but she was wrong. He tracked her. It was a mistake to underestimate him. She should know by now she could not make assumptions. He always seemed know, no matter how clever she was. She was running out of tricks.

Her breath came hot and ragged. She’d grown thin and agile during her two years on the run, but even she had limits. Her calves were burning and a stitch worried at her side. She cursed under her breath. He was like a hound, dogged in his pursuit. She could escape the others easily enough, but never him. He was too clever, too skilled. He always knew when she would feint, where she would run next. Out of all of the bounty hunters who chased her, she feared him the most. There had been so many near-misses. Again and again, she only managed to slip through despite impossible odds.

It seemed ages - lifetimes - ago now, but she remembered the night she first met him. She had been a fugitive for three months at the time, and though she still had the occasional run-in with a few over-eager hunters here and there, she was getting better at eluding them. She found a place to lie low: a tiny hut nestled in some woods skirting a remote village, far from Central. It seemed safe: a quiet place with quiet people. No one suspected who she truly was, and she was getting to know the villagers, picking up odd jobs at the local inn and surrounding farms. She started to relax. She even began to hope her long, harrowing flight was over.

It was a mistake.

He found her - as he did again and again in the months that followed. She was settling down to dinner by a humble campfire when he materialized from the darkness between the trees. She was so shocked she barely noticed the soup dribbling between her fingers, scalding her skin. For a few precious moments she could not move, lost in the predatory gaze of the man who would become her ever-present shadow. He was nearly upon her before she could react. She sprang up from the log where she sat, and - stumbling and till half-shocked - fled into the woods. But she was too slow. He caught hold of her braid just as her heels kicked into a sprint. She only managed to escape by hastily slashing her hair with the tiny dagger she kept strapped to her wrist. She remembered how furious he looked, standing with the limp remnants of her braid in one hand. Like some angry god. She wore her hair shorn close ever since.

A few weeks later, she discovered who he was: an accidental slip from a hunter who tried to corner her on the road. They called him Flame - for what reason she did not know. But during the months he chased her, she grew to know him by another name: Fear, the embodiment of terror. He was so much faster than the others. He seemed to be everywhere, no matter where she fled. He knew how to track, how to lay traps. Her life was one near-miss after another because of him.

Once, when she tried to settle down quietly for what seemed the hundredth time, he confronted her in public. She was working as a waitress at a local diner, hair dyed an inconspicuous black. The place was busy that night, and her apron pocket bulged with tips - a veritable fortune to her at the time. She saw a lone man sit down at one of her tables, and she hustled over to take his order. She remembered having a vaguely uneasy feeling as she approached. She should have listened to her instincts.

“What’ll you have?” she said, pulling out a pen and pad.

“Not sure,” the man replied, face hidden behind the large menu. “What’s good?”

“Most people go for the omelettes,” she said. Her stomach began to writhe and the muscles in her calves twitched, begging her to run. There was something familiar about his voice.

“I don’t want omelettes.”

“Well, there’s –“ Her voice caught as the man lowered the menu.

It was him. Flame. Her Fear.

She did not run. Not immediately, anyways. She knew by then that he would never do anything in a public place. However strange it may seem, he held to some unspoken hunter rules; attacking her here would somehow be uncivil for him. No, she knew he would wait. She was safe while she remained here. Besides, she had yet to collect her wages for the week. And so she moved along with her mundane job - if perhaps slightly more stiffly than before - merely taking his order as though nothing were amiss. He played along. He even seemed to be enjoying himself, eyes twinkling at her over his breakfast, watching her as though she were the most entertaining show on earth. The bastard. She should have spat in his food.

After her shift was over and she collected her tips, she tried to slip quietly out the back. He was waiting for her, as she knew he would. She managed to escape that night, but not before she was forced to leave her bag behind when it snagged on a piece of broken fence between two low-set buildings. She lost an entire week’s wages - a sum that could have fed her for a month. She would never forgive him for that.

And now he nearly had her again. He was close and she was beginning to tire. Before all this, she thought she was military-fit, physically capable of anything, but not even that could prepare her for the daily strain of simple survival. Two years on the run changed her - transformed her. Her body was all sleek muscle and hard sinew now. Her instincts became the most central part of her, the guiding force that dictated the ebb and flow of her life. She learned long ago it was a mistake to ignore the subtle clues - the sense of foreboding he instilled. Besides, strange things seemed to happen around him. It was too easy to be caught off guard.

Right now, the back of her neck itched like it was washed with a hot, hungry breath. He was close.

Riza rounded a corner. The alley ended in a brick wall, high enough to disappear in the darkness above. “Fuck,” she muttered. She turned to backtrack her steps but stopped short by what she saw waiting for her. “Fuck.”

He was there, standing at the end of the narrow alley she just traversed, body haloed by the light of the nearby streetlamp. His face was hidden in shadow but she knew his expression. She knew his lips spread into that crooked smile she so vehemently hated. She considered it a blessing she could not see it now.

“Careless.” The word was an admonishment and a crow of victory all in one.

“Oh?” she said, her mind shuffling through every trick she knew. The alley walls stretched up into the darkness – too high and too smooth for her to climb. The contents of her pack were spartan – she found long ago that being light on her feet more useful than carrying an arsenal of weapons. Besides, obtaining a non-military issue gun was unheard of these days. Oh, how her hand itched to hold one now.

“You are,” he said, his voice like velvet. “So very careless.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Riza said, her mind still racing. _I’ve got my knife_ … She shook her head. She attempted hand-to-hand combat a few times in the past and it did not go well for her. She was far more skilled with a firearm than her fists. She was faster than her hunter, but his brute strength made him a force to be reckoned with.

He stepped forward, his figure shadowed by a large water reservoir that hung suspended between the two buildings. Riza shuffled back in kind, her hand straying to the knife she kept strapped to the small of her back. His silhouetted head cocked to one side. “I expected better.”

Riza didn’t reply, studying him for any movement - any clue as to what he might do. Perhaps if he telegraphed enough she could find a way to slip through...

“You were doing so well,” he said, his voice mocking. “Making it more interesting for me. I was starting to have fun, chasing you. Now – “ he spat on the pavement. “A dead end? I expected better.”

“What do you know?” Riza’s eyes flicked up the water tank, now directly above the hunter.

That’s it. Her answer.

In the two years she knew him, Flame had always avoided water. The discovery had been an abrupt and unexpected one. Before the event she never noticed how his pursuit broke off at the slightest hint of rain, nor how when she would escape by plunging into a river or lake he would wait at its banks, biding his time. It was a odd event; in a desperate attempt to flee, Riza led the hunter onto an abandoned farm. He was closing in and nearly had her when she rounded the corner of a large shed. She only had a moment to find something - anything - to defend herself. She spied a bucket full of rain water sitting at the end of a drainage pipe. Hefting it in both hands, she tossed it in his face as he rounded the corner. It stopped him - seemed to almost incapacitate him. It was enough for her to get away. Since then she knew: He could not abide being wet. Riza’s fingers curled around the handle of her knife. She slid one foot outward, gaining purchase. She would only get one chance at this.

“I like to think I know quite a lot about my prey,” he smirked. “I make it my business, you see.”

“Your prey,” she deadpanned.

“Why yes,” the man drawled, seeming to savor each word.

"I'm not your _prey_." The word was disgusting. Anger boiled deep in her gut.

"You are," he said, and she could feel his eyes raking over her. "I know you down to your very bones."

“You don't know ANYTHING!” The last word came out a shout as she hurled her knife blade first at the water tank. Metal hit metal in a single, dull tone and water burst forth, pushed outward under the pressure of its own weight. Riza felt a cool spay spatter over her cheeks as she watched with satisfaction as her hunter was buffeted with sheets of freezing liquid. She heard him let out a yell, quickly cut short in a sputtering cough.

Now was her chance. She raced forward, her feet moving so quickly she felt like she was skimming over the newly-formed puddles. From the corner of her vision she saw Flame’s arm shoot out to catch her, but she quickly avoided him, sidestepping and moving forward, ever forward. New energy filled her; the burning sensation was gone. She would escape tonight as she had so many times before.

As she raced away through the darkened streets she did not spare a backwards glance. She knew he would follow. He would always follow. She could never escape him.

She had to keep running.


	2. Part 1, Chapter 1: Unexpected Kindness

It was well past mid morning before Riza felt safe enough to rest. In her need to flee, she barely registered the light appearing over the horizon, nor the autumn-stained trees that flew past, glinting orange under the rising sun. She fled to the one place where she knew she could safely hide: into the deep woods outside the city. She had not stopped since. It was part of her life now, the running. She had grown used to the cadence of her feet beating over the hard ground, the security of knowing that she was moving ever forward, away from him. The rhythm of it kept her sane and comforted her enough to keep hunger from gnawing at her insides or fatigue from creeping into her legs.

The air was clean and cold, and the sweat that wicked her skin felt like icy fingers lacing into the small of her back. Riza swallowed thickly, feeling the stiff gumminess of her parched throat for the first time. She needed water. And rest.

Coming to a clearing, she stopped, straining to hear any sound. There was only the rustling of leaves, the restless twitter of birds, and a soft burbling of a creek nearby. The relative silence was not enough. It was never enough. She needed to be careful - to know she was safe. Riza crouched, poised on the balls of her feet, waiting.

It was a good quarter of an hour before she was satisfied she had not been followed, and felt safe enough to creep towards the creek. She unfurled herself slowly, working out the kinks in her muscles. It was hard to sit for long when she was so used to moving.

She heard the water before she spied it, it’s soft, laughing voice calling to her. Riza stumbled forward, drawn to it. Her throat ached from thirst.

“Oh hello,” the voice was cheerful and easy - the bright tenor of a young man.

Riza whirled toward the noise, her face draining of color. On the other side of the glen stood its source, a man with straw-colored hair splayed stiffly in all directions as though it were the very stuff itself. His eyes were a startling shade of blue, the same color as the clear sky above. The man smiled at her, his face open and friendly: the face of a farm boy. Despite this, Riza held back, ready to flee. She had been fooled before.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, sending her a lazy wave across the brook.

Riza pursed her lips, studying the man. Did he recognize her? He did not appear to - he seemed so easy and relaxed. He wore roughspun plainclothes: a village man, the kind who would not be bothered by the bustlings of a big city. She took in his broad shoulders, only then noting a wooden yoke slung over them, balancing an empty pail on either side. She opened her mouth to speak, her voice croaking. It felt like ages since she used it, but it had only been last night. “It’s… alright. You didn’t scare me.”

The man’s smile broadened, and he slowly eased his burden to the ground. “I’m glad.” He peered up at her through the unruly fringe of his bangs. “What brings you to these parts? You’re quite a ways from East City.”

Riza cautiously moved forward, her legs itching from the urge to run. She fought the temptation. It would only serve to rouse the man’s suspicion. “Ran away from home.”

“Oh,” the man said, picking up a bucket and dipping below the water. His hands were long and lean, not roughened - not quite the hands of a farmer. Riza wondered what he did in the village,  _ Perhaps some sort of tradesman? _ “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t mean to pry.” He glanced up, expression contrite.

Riza sent a grimace back she hoped he interpreted as a smile. The man’s easy spirit was comforting, but she needed to stay focused. She reached behind her to pull out her water skin from where it was clasped to her belt. Keeping her eyes on him, she sidled forward toward the creek. Uncorking the skin, she tipped it under the water. It was cold and clean, and soon her fingers were numb.. Throwing her fears to the side, she placed the opening against her lips and drank deeply. It was just as she imagined it - crisp and pure. The coldness of it spread from her belly to her arms, filling her with renewed strength.

“Good, aint it?” the man sent her a toothy grin.

Riza nodded, wiping a few errant drops from the corners of her lips. “Yes.”

“S’why I come here rather than our village well.” The man said, reaching over to grab his second pail. “The well water tastes like swamp, so getting some here is worth the trip.” He shrugged. “At least that’s what my ma tells me.”

Riza sent him a shy smile, genuine this time. “Seems worth it to me.” She took another mouthful of water, savoring it.

“Yeah,” the man said, his eyes crinkled in a friendly kind of way.

Something about the water must have woken her hunger, because the growl of her empty stomach echoed out across the expanse between them. Riza placed a hand over her midsection, embarrassed, suddenly all too aware of herself. She knew how she must have looked to him: half-starved and in desperate need of a bath, hair flying about her face like a static halo. She must have looked just like what she was: a woman on the run.

So lost was she in her worries that she barely noted the man, who had stepped across the creek. She only just recognized his presence when she saw a small package thrust in front of her.

“Here.”

Riza let out an alarmed cry and took several rushed steps backward.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m - I’m sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. It’s food.” The man’s face was kind, filled with pity.

“I’m…” she stammered. “I’m not hungry.”

The man snorted, his face so open and comforting she wanted to let out a sob of relief. “Like hell you aren’t. I could hear your stomach from across the creek.” He thrust the package forward. “Please, take it. We have plenty. The year has been good to us.”

Riza’s heart felt heavy. Kindness was a thing long-forgotten to her. The world was a harsh and terrible place. It was a place where people suffered, where she would get no rest. A place of injustice, of false accusations and a crime she would never commit.

And yet here he was - a man who wished to help her, his hand outstretched, weighted with a gift. Her stomach grumbled as the scent of turkey and freshly-baked bread seeped from between the wax paper wrapping. Her newly-moistened mouth began to water.

“Please,” the man said. “Please take it.” His voice was sad and somehow urgent. “Please, I can tell you need it.”

Riza hesidently reached forward and took the package, careful to avoid touching his hand. “Thank you.” It felt warm and heavy in her hand, as though it had been in his pocket for some time. It felt like a treasure. She blinked rapidly to clear away the mist filling her eyes. Generosity was not a thing she encountered too often on the road. But sometimes she did. She would never forget the portly man who let him into his home one snowy night to warm herself by a fire, nor the stiff-backed store owner who refused to take her money when she came up short. Riza cleared her throat, trying her best to keep emotion from washing over her. It was an easier thing to see the world as a harsh and unloving place. Much easier than allowing herself to feel.

Riza unwrapped the package and took a bite of the sandwich. It tasted like home. She glanced up at the man, hopeful he could understand what she could not utter aloud. “Thank you. Really.”

The man’s face darkened, overtaken by an expression she did not understand. His lips spread into a thin smile. “You bet.”

-o-o-o-

Jean strode away, only vaguely aware of the sounds of the woman’s rustling footsteps fading back into the forest. She was not anything like how she imagined: the clarity of her eyes, the intensity of her hard-pressed lips. He heard from some of his classmates at Central that she had been a star at the academy - a cold killer, unmatched in her skills with a rifle. He believed them now.

And yet… There was a softness to her - an honesty and vulnerability he did not expect. Jean shook his head to clear it of the vision of her gaunt face and the tears she fought back at his act of kindness. He was not sure what to make of that. He needed a cigarette.

Jean entered the village, casting his eyes about. He had been stationed here for over a week, posing as a seasonal worker looking to make some quick money from the autumn harvest. It took some swift thinking to find a yoke and set of buckets on such short notice as well as a ready excuse to saunter into the woods - they would need to be returned. But first, he needed to find a phone. He had a report to make, and his boss was not known for his patience. He grew up in a place like this - small, isolated - but not so much that it was not fully bereft of the gifts of modern life. He spied the general store at the other end of the green, wires strung from its roof like cobwebs.

Setting his burden aside behind a quiet building, Jean strode quickly to the store , ignoring the blatant stares of villagers. He was dressed the part, but these little towns had a way of knowing everyone and their business. Jean was still a stranger, and he meant to keep it that way. He would quietly slip away tonight, if all went well.

A bell tinkled softly as he entered the dark interior of the store. One of the clerks looked up, his round face surprised by the unfamiliar blond. “Can I help you?”

“Got a phone?”

The man pointed to the corner. “Ten cenz.”

Havoc grinned. “Thanks.” He dug into his pocket and tossed the money onto the counter, not pausing before picking up the receiver in one long-fingered hand and pulled out a worn address book. It was only a few minutes before he was connected.

“Chief?”

There was the sound of a droning voice over the line.

Jean sighed. “Yes, it was her, she’s exhausted and half-starved but -”

The voice buzzed loudly.

“Yes, sir.” Jean said, swallowing.

There was a pause over the line, then a set of hurried instructions. Jean nodded along, jotting down notes with a stubby pencil.

“Chief, I have to ask,” Jean said, leaning against the wall and peering out the window. The villagers were gathered together on the square, preparing for what looked to be an autumn festival of some sort. “Are you sure this is the right thing? She doesn’t seem… I mean to say, are you sure she really did it?”

The crackling reply was a shout. Havoc pulled the receiver from his ear, wincing.

“Sorry, you’re right,” Havoc sighed. “But she… well, she seemed so normal, you know?”

Another buzz, lower this time.

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter I suppose.” Jean sighed heavily through his nose. “Hey, there’s something else,” he lowered his voice, casting a sidelong glance towards the store clerk. “I overheard a few of the villagers talking about a man in white. Ya think it’s him?

There was a long pause over the line, punctuated by the sizzling sounds of static. Finally, Jean received a terse response.

“Yeah, well... I hope so. Anyway, she was headed west. I don’t think she will get far - she’s on foot.” He turned the page of his book, and pulled out a map he had tucked away. He held the heavily folded paper close to his face to see more clearly, his nose nearly skimming its surface. “There may be a place where she will try to settle for the night…”


	3. Part 1, Chapter 2: The Lake

“Shit.”  
  
Not for the first time, Riza cursed her luck. Who would think that in the middle of a lake, in the middle of a forest, in the middle of nowhere she still couldn’t get a decent bath? Two years on the run endowed her with many gifts - stealth, cunning - but she still could not come to terms with the thought of her naked body on display. Especially for him.  
  
Riza slunk down into the water so her nose just skimmed the surface. She could feel his eyes on her, and though the shore was empty - lit dimly by a waning half-moon - she knew he was waiting with that ever-present smirk on his face. Riza closed her eyes and concentrated. Months spent as a target - a _prey_ \- to this man left her with an eerie ability to place him. He waited on the southern bank - she was sure of it. The birds were quiet there; the forest seemed more still. Even creatures knew to fear him. He was laying in wait for her, right where she left her clothes. She cursed, sending a flurry of bubbles through the water.  
  
Mercifully, this was not the first time she was forced to flee at a moment’s notice. Riza learned long ago to anticipate and adapt; she always had a contingency plan. She stashed another set of clothes at the opposite bank earlier that evening. She would need to abandon the rest of her supplies, but she would be able to escape without confronting him. She only wished for two things. One, that he was not aware of her secret cache. And two, that she could get away in time.

Perhaps there was a third thing she wished for: that he would not see her naked. Again.  
  
Steeling herself, Riza took a deep breath and sunk soundlessly into the inky water. She started swimming toward the opposite shore, praying this one breath would be enough to reach the bank. If she broke the surface, he would see, and it would almost surely end badly for her.  
  
Her lungs were close to bursting when her hands met the thick weeds that rimmed the edge of the lake. She kicked harder, careful not to form waves in the water. Riza fought the growing panic that filled her chest - begging her to breathe. Her fingers brushed the sandy bottom when a great light appeared above the water. Head reeling and air-starved, Riza sank lower, clinging to her anchors with both hands. Above her blazed a giant ball of fire. She could feel its heat through the water where she hid, two feet below the surface. It skimmed low over the water, darting here and there like a dragonfly. In moments, it was gone.  
  
_What the hell?_  
  
Riza slowly rose from the edge of the pool, careful not to make a sound. Even a ripple might give her away. She sucked in a slow breath though carefully pursed lips. The night air hit her skin like an icy wall and goosebumps pimpled her flesh. She dared a quick glance to the opposite bank. Whatever it was, the mysterious ball of light had disappeared. Riza hurried over to her clothes, tucked in a little crevice between two rocks. They were old and worn thin, but warm and enough to cover her. They would do for now.  
  
She broke into a sprint the moment she finished dressing. He was a hard man to fool, her hunter, and it would not be long before he caught on to her little trick. He knew she was willing to leave things behind - she’d done so many times in the past. Possessions were nothing to her anymore, though she did feel a twinge of regret as she quickly slipped into the woods. She had a few mementos in her pack across the lake, including a new knife she quite liked. She would miss that knife. She planned on stabbing him with it.  
  
She ran for a good hour before stopping to catch her breath. It was nearing dawn again; the sky took on a bruised pink tinge, growing brighter by the moment. There’d been no sign of him since she left the lake. It was strange. He was impatient - not one to wait. He usually attacked swiftly. Riza was beginning to wonder if she imagined things. It was nearly two days since she had any real sleep. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks; perhaps he was not there, laying in wait beside her pack. Perhaps she was imagining things. But then she remembered the heat and light of fire. Something happened - something she didn’t understand. It wasn’t worth the risk.  
  
Riza rose, brushing off her pants. She didn’t have time to rest. Not for another day at least. She started forward at a brisk walk, aiming away from the rising sun. The forest was waking, slowly stirring around her. Once, long ago, she might have found it peaceful but she didn’t know what that meant anymore.  
  
It was full morning by the time she came across a smooth-worn road, wide enough to allow two cars abreast. By all appearances, it was a much-used highway, but she only spied one lone wagon approaching from the north, pulled by a single dray horse.  
  
Riza debated the prudence of meeting a stranger on the road. For the most part, she preferred to stay out of sight; fliers bearing her image were posted throughout Central in the days following her alleged crime. People - strangers - recognized her wherever she went. But her stomach rumbled, her legs ached, and her lids felt heavy from lack of sleep. She was far outside of Central. Maybe this lone farmer would be willing to offer a ride. Maybe he had some food to spare. And maybe - _maybe_ \- he would not recognize her. Riza pressed her lips together and stepped to the side of the road. Waiting.  
  
The man in the wagon wore a thick brown coat and a wide-brimmed hat. She could not see his face as he neared, but she saw a stream of smoke curl from a long pipe that jutted from the side. The man glanced up just as he passed her and he pulled on the reins, stopping his horse across from where she stood. The farmer’s head lifted; she could see his chin was thick and covered with grimy stubble.  
  
“Alone on the road?” he rumbled.  
  
“I live just down the way,” Riza lied quickly. She’d grown good at that. She had a lot of opportunities to practice over the past two years.  
  
“Need a ride?” The man was eyeing her now. It made her feel uneasy, but then again she could not remember the last time she felt truly relaxed.  
  
_I can always run if I need to_ . Slipping away from such people usually did not pose a challenge. It was the hunters she most feared. “If it’s not too much trouble.” Her legs were growing tired and the rest would be welcome. At a single nod from the stranger, Riza stepped to the wagon and climbed the spoked wheel. The bed was oddly empty; the farmer must have just dropped off a shipment of goods. Riza settled cross-legged on the rough floor, smiling at the stranger in thanks. The man clucked at his horse, wiggled the reins, and they were off.  
  
“What brings ya to the road?” The man called over his shoulder.  
  
“Visiting family,” Riza said.

  
“Ah,” he said. “Ya talk like someone from Central. Ya from there?”  
  
“Yes,” she answered without thinking. Inwardly, she cursed.  
  
“Thought so,” he said. “Got that accent.” He turned in his seat, peering at her more closely. “I was there a few years ago. They ever get that whole mess with that lady cleared up? That traitor soldier?”  
  
Riza shrugged, though her heart began to race and a familiar rising fear filled her chest. “Can’t say.”  
  
The man chuckled, readjusting his coat as though it were suddenly uncomfortable. “Liar.”  
  
The fear squeezed her like a fist. “Wh- what?”  
  
“Liar,” he sneered. The man’s voice was suddenly thin and vile and far too knowing. “You’re a liar and a murderer, Riza Hawkeye. They’ll be very pleased when I bring you in.”  
  
She barely had enough time to react. The stranger stood and spun to face her, pulling a gun from beneath the bulk of his coat. Riza gasped and scrambled backwards across the rough floorboards, splinters piercing her hands and backside. She had just thrown her legs over the back when she heard a soft pop and something stung her shoulder. Riza looked down in horror, expecting a gaping bullet hole and a stream of blood, but instead saw a dart embedded in her skin. He meant to take her alive.  
  
Riza tugged the thing from her shoulder and threw it to the side, quickly slipping off the back of the wagon. She broke into a run the moment her feet touched the ground. A few pops sounded behind her, but she managed to dodge the next spray of darts, impossible as it seemed.  
  
The sedative hit quickly and without warning. Riza stumbled, barely catching herself before she fell. Just as she suspected, the dart was filled with some concoction to incapacitate her. She staggered forward, heading toward the safety of the trees. There at least she would have a chance at losing him. She stole a glance over her shoulder and saw the man leisurely step down from the wagon. Riza growled and pressed on. The world began to spin.  
  
Her shoulder hit the first tree she passed. Her foot caught on a root and she fell painfully on both hands. Riza tried to shake the growing drowsiness that crowded her head. The sedative was beginning to drag at her. Things were turning foggy and remote. She didn’t have much time. She pushed up on hands and feet, but heavy footsteps approached behind her before she could rise. A bone-deep kick met her side and she fell sprawling in a musty bed of leaves. Gasping, Riza managed to roll to her back before another kick met her chest. She cried out and tried to squirm away, but the man stood over her like a great looming cloud. Threatening. Unstoppable.  
  
“I found you,” said the man. “I found you.” His eyes were feverish with greed. “Every bounty hunter in the country looking for you, and _I_ found you.”  
  
“Don’t touch me,” Riza mumbled. Her tongue was thick. It felt like a giant blanket lay over her body. She could not move.  
  
The man stepped over her, one foot on either side of her hips. “You don’t have a say.” He was more fervent now. Spit flew from between his lips, and Riza could detect a darker undercurrent in his voice. It spoke of want. Desire. “You’re mine. Mine.”  
  
It was an effort just to breathe now. Riza watched, unable to fight, as the man slowly sank to his knees. He leaned over her; his acrid breath washed over her face. _No!_ her mind shrieked, but she only managed a garbled moan. She tried to turn her face away as the man leaned closer. She might as well have tried to move a mountain.  
  
A knife flashed in the man’s hands and she heard the soft rip of fabric. He slashed through the front of her shirt. She felt the cold metal of his belt brush over her bare stomach. Terror curled inside her, but still she could not move. His eyes were hungry and too, too close.  
  
Everything happened at once. A loud crack sounded to her right, and a sudden burst of light exploded next to the man’s head. His neck jerked to the side as though hit by an unseen blow. Less than a second later, a dark boot darted through the air, meeting the man’s temple faster than Riza could see. His neck made a horrible snapping noise and he fell to his side, moaning in pain. A dark figure appeared in Riza’s field of view, filling the void. Riza’s heart nearly stopped.  
  
It was him. Flame. Her hunter. He found her. He stood over her, dressed in entirely in black except his white gloves, which were fisted at his side. He was furious.  
  
“What are you doing?” he snarled. His eyes were on the man that still lay groaning on the forest floor, but Riza could not help thinking the words were directed at her. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”  
  
“I saw her first,” the man said. “She’s mine. My bounty. I -”  
  
“No,” her hunter said. He raised a single hand before him, thumb and fingers together. “She’s my mark. I claimed her long ago.”  
  
The man had managed to push himself to his feet by now. He growled, words of protest already flying from his lips. But instead the man paled. His voice faltered and eyes widened. He suddenly seemed to recognize the dark man who stood before him. “You’re not... You can’t be...?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
The edges of Riza’s vision were growing black and noises sounded far away. She hovered precariously on the edge of consciousness. She heard voices, loud and angry. She heard the popping sound of a gun. She heard an explosion and felt heat wash over her exposed chest. Then things were quiet. Riza was just succumbing to the drug when she felt a pair of arms lift her from the warm earth. The movement stirred her to wakefulness.  
  
A dark head hovered over her, close enough to touch. It was him.  
  
“You idiot,” he muttered even as his eyes trailed over her face and neck, scanning for injuries. His gaze met hers for an instant before darting away. “You careless idiot.” He hitched her higher in his arms and started forward, deeper into the woods.  
  
Riza only managed a weak groan before everything went black.


	4. Part 1, Chapter 3: Trapped

It was an effort to wake, like pulling off endless sheets of falling cobwebs. She felt heat on her face and heard the crackle of a nearby fire. Something hard and sharp pressed against her hip. Riza moaned and tried to stir, but her hands were bound behind her back. Her whole body ached and rough wool scratched her cheek. After a few long minutes fighting off the remaining effects of the drug, she slowly opened her eyes.   
  
She lay at the center of a small clearing next to a large campfire. Her hair was splayed over her face but she could just make out a cord of wood a few feet away. And there - just visible between roaring flames - she could see him. He sat easily, legs crossed, elbows balanced on his knees. His black overcoat was spread below him, leaving him in his shirtsleeves. He still wore his belt, a thing bejeweled with many of the tools hunters used in their trade. Several of the items were unrecognizable to her but she knew the purpose of a few. She had firsthand experience after all.   
  
He seemed distracted, flipping something in his hand without focusing on it. Riza had to watch for some time to realize what it was: the knife she left on the river bank. She had to suppress the growl that threatened to escape. Even now, he managed to mock her. The hunter caught the handle easily with each toss, flipping over to hold the blade before sending into the air again. He stared into the flame, seemingly hypnotized by the light.   
  
Riza took the opportunity to study him. In the years he chased her, there were not many times she could see his face, only managing glimpses between trees or around the corners of buildings. The few times he caught her - when he was close enough she could feel his heat - she could only remember his eyes. Black. Predatory. The eyes of a killer. Even now, they were the first thing she saw as she peered at him from across the fire. This time, though, they were pensive. He seemed to be lost in thought.   
  
He was not an unattractive man. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a slight but muscular build. Once, long ago, Riza would have thought him handsome. But his expression was hard and he frowned as he stared into the fire. Despite his moniker, she saw no warmth in him. He was a man as road-worn as she; tiny wounds dotted his hands and arms. Riza’s eyes unwillingly dropped to the scar on his wrist. She’d given him that. The one mark she’d left - nothing compared to the good dozen he’d inflicted on her.   
  
The knife never stopped, tumbling end over end before falling to his hand with a soft slap. He seemed engrossed in the fire, so Riza was surprised when he spoke.   
  
“You’re awake.”   
  
Riza flinched. His voice was synonymous with fear, that deep sonorous sound that echoed in her nightmares. It was too late to feign sleep now, so she tossed her head, flicking the hair from her face. It was only then that she noticed her torn shirt had been replaced by another from her pack.  _ That bastard _ , she thought, unconsciously curling in on herself.  _ What gives him the right -? _ She saw a soft smirk growing on his face, as though he knew what she was thinking. Riza glared at him, trying to maintain what dignity she could tied up like an animal.   
  
“So,” she said. “You finally caught me.”   
  
His expression changed so quickly, Riza could not be sure what happened. His smirk transformed into a frown and a look of frustration tightened his features. She expected him to be happy - triumphant he finally had her. But his eyes only darkened. He stopped flipping the knife, instead gripping it in one white-knuckled hand.    
  
They stared at each other for a long, wordless minute before Riza growled. “Don’t you have something to say?”   
  
The hunter’s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp crack sounded from somewhere outside the circle of fire. He rose smoothly and without sound, flipping the dagger in his hand so the blade pointed down from his clenched fist. Riza tensed as he stood silently, staring out in the woods. He was as motionless as the trees that surrounded them. The forest was silent, holding its breath. Everything was still, so Riza could only assume the sound they heard was some falling branch or creature moving about in the night. But her hunter remained at the edge of light even after the silence dragged on for minutes. Something had him spooked.    
  
After a long wait, he finally settled on his cloak again. Riza watched him wordlessly, studying his face. His expression was a dark mask, unreadable as always. His eyes flicked over to her before focusing back on the fire. The blade turned over and over in his hands.   
  
“What do you want with me?” she said. The bindings cut at her wrists and her fingers were beginning to tingle. She clenched and unclenched her hands to return some blood to them.   
  
The hunter shrugged. “Bounty.”   
  
“Others have chased me,” she said. “They gave up on the bounty long ago.”   
  
He looked at her then - the dark, focused expression she knew so well. His eyes blazed more intensely than the fire that roared only a few feet away. “I don’t give up so easily,” he said.   
  
“I’m aware,” Riza hissed, suddenly desperate to escape. She rolled to her side and tried to slide her hands out of the ropes. They only cut deeper. Riza sucked a breath between her teeth. She glanced down to see she was bound at the ankle and knee as well. There was no way out. “But you would have never caught me had it not been for that other hunter -”   
  
His face soured. He sheathed her knife in his belt and rose stiffly before striding over to her. Riza unconsciously shrunk away. The cold night air hit her face when he came between her and the fire, blocking its heat. He knelt to grip her chin in one hand. “Quiet,” he said harshly.   
  
It seemed she hit a nerve. Riza glared up at her captor, mind reeling over how she might take advantage of this new development. “If you wanted to catch me on your own, you sure made some show of it,” she said in the most scathing tone she could manage. “Well done. You captured a fugitive already crippled with drugs.” She watched his darkening face with a mixture of glee and growing fear. “Some hunter you are.”   
  
His eyes narrowed at her dangerously, fingers tightening on her chin before roughly pulling away. He strode a few steps before he spoke again, back facing her. “You are the one that made the mistake. It seemed as though you  _ wanted  _ to get caught.”   
  
“What?” she said indignantly.  _ How dare he say that? _ she fumed. She spent every day of her life fighting to stay free since the crime, and now he accused her of wanting to get caught?   
  
“A stranger on the road?” he said, face twisted in disgust. “All these years running - all the skills you’ve learned over that time - and you’re nearly done in by a stranger on the road?”   
  
Riza gaped at him for a long minute before she could reply. It seemed as though he were almost... disappointed in her. As though he expected more. It was too impossible to be believed. Riza pursed her lips, gathering her thoughts. She needed to distract him, goad him, wound his pride. It seemed to be his undoing. “Are you jealous that he did what you could not?”   
  
It was a mistake. She’d gone too far. The hunter let out a furious growl before sweeping close to her again, this time taking hold of the front of her shirt. He lifted her torso a full foot from the ground, face only inches from hers. Riza fought the fear that rose to the back of her throat. She’d forgotten how frighteningly impulsive he could be.   
  
“He was an idiot - an amateur,” he snarled. “He should have known better. You’re my mark. The others know that - he should have known it, too.”    
  
“I’m no one’s mark,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “I don’t belong to you or anyone else.”   
  
The hunter’s expression changed into something she didn’t understand. Haunted. Hungry. The face of a man searching for something he knew he could never find. His hand tightened on the collar of her shirt. “You don’t know anything,” he murmured.   
  
“Let go of me,” she said coolly.   
  
“Fine,” he said, dropping her unceremoniously to the ground. He swept away to the other side of the fire without a backwards glance. Riza watched with glittering eyes as he crouched next to her pack, reaching inside to rifle through its contents.   
  
She turned toward him to curl on her side. Her stomach still roiled with fear; his sudden outbursts were not unfamiliar, but they never grew less frightening with time. Her eyes threw daggers at his back as he bent over her bag. She didn’t care what he found there - not really. Nothing remained of the life she left behind; possessions were meaningless to her. But her eyes flicked to the knife - her knife - that still hung from his belt. She wanted that back.    
  
He ignored her, intent on his work.   
  
“Why?” she whispered. “Why chase me all this time?”   
  
He was still turned away so she couldn’t see his face, but his back stiffened - she saw the muscles jump under his shirt. His hands froze for a moment, halfway buried inside her pack, before he began to pick through the items again. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said gruffly. “I want the money.”   
  
She studied him in silence before answering. “Plenty of others gave up on catching me. It wasn’t worth it to them eventually.”   
  
“Well.” He pulled out a few utensils and her last remaining possessions, lining them up one by one on the ground. “Unlike them, I don’t give up.”   
  
“I know,” she said. Suddenly she felt exhausted, ancient. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know better than anyone.” Of course she knew. He had been her constant shadow for months. From the day she met him, she hadn’t a moment’s peaceful rest. Even during the rare times when she found somewhere safe, he always found a way to haunt her, worming his way into her dreams and nightmares. “Your work is done. You’ll have your money. And fame, I’d wager.” She paused, biting her lip. “Are you happy now?”    
  
“Happy?” he grunted. He seemed surprised at the word - as though it had no part in his vocabulary. She could only see a corner of his face, but she could tell his brows were furrowed. “I’ll get my bounty, if that’s what you mean.”   
  
“You did what you set out to do. You have me,” she said. “I just need to know why you hunted me for so long. Can’t you at least answer me that?”   
  
He shrugged again, but this time it seemed more to brush off an ill feeling rather than respond to her. “I’m a bounty hunter. There was a price on your head.”   
  
“I see. How fortuitous that you found me in the state I was in.”   
  
He was pulling out her clothes now, shaking out every piece and checking each pocket before folding them and placing them to the side. When he next spoke, it was so softly she could hardly hear him over the crackle of the fire. “You should have been more careful.”   
  
“I’m always careful.”   
  
He turned to look at her angrily before returning to his task. “No. You’re not.”   
  
“Are you upset?” Riza said bitterly. Bitingly. White-hot resentment blossomed in her chest. “Are you upset you caught me this way? All these years chasing me and this is how it ends. I was helpless. I couldn’t fight you. Is that it? You get some sick pleasure from this.”   
  
“Quiet,” he grunted. He did not turn to face her, but she saw his hands clench and unclench on one of her shirts. She heard him sigh before he folded the thing and set it aside. The hunter lifted the now empty bag and turned it over, carefully inspecting each seam. Seemingly done with his search, he began to pack each piece into the pack with a neat efficiency that surprised her.   
  
“Dumb luck,” she murmured, flipping to her back. Almost unwittingly, her eyes canted up to the constellation her father once showed her when she was a child. He called it Foiros. It was many years since she last saw him. It was strange her mind dwelled on him now. “How anticlimactic it must be for you. How disappointing.”   
  
“Shut up,” he said harshly and nearer than she expected. Riza started and made to sit up, but a boot pressed into her shoulder and she fell back with a grunt.   
  
She hadn’t even heard him move. But before she could draw another breath he stood over her, her pack in one hand. He dropped it to the ground next to her. Riza stared at the thing incredulously before her eyes swept up to see something flash into his hand. Fear dropped into her stomach when she recognized her knife.   
  
“Get away from me!” Riza hissed. The fear returned in a moment; every bone and fiber in her screamed that she run. The hunter was just above her, eyes dark, frightening and too, too familiar. She rolled to her side and shuffled backwards, desperate to put some space between them.   
  
It was a pathetic attempt. He only had to lean forward to catch her. She felt like a kitten as he took hold of her shirt and dragged her back to the bedroll, slamming her to the ground. “Hold. Still.” he said. The knife blade hovered over her throat. His face was just above it; she could feel his breath on her cheek.    
  
“What - ?” She stilled as the cold edge touched her skin, gentle but threatening. She stared at him with wide eyes, afraid to even breathe.    
  
The hunter waited for a good minute before his hand moved. Riza’s terror rose as she saw the knife drift down, only inches over her skin. His face remained near hers, watching her expression with cold avidity. Riza avoided his eyes, staring at the knife as it made its descent. The edge seemed to pause over her waist. She felt the tip flick at the edge of her belt.   
  
“Don’t -” she said, drawing her knees up reflexively. The hunter growled and she froze, afraid of what he might do. His hand darted out and she muffled a scream. But there was no pain; he hadn’t touched her. She saw the knife flash near her knees. Riza let out an alarmed cry, struggling to roll away -   
  
And suddenly the ropes were unraveling from her knees and ankles. He had cut through them. Riza gasped and worked her legs out of the remaining bindings, wiggling her toes as the circulation suddenly returned to her feet. The hunter drew away, watching her with wary eyes.   
  
“What are you - ?” Riza rolled to her side and managed to sit up. The suddenness of her freedom was dizzying. Her hands were still bound behind her back, but even now she might have a chance at running. At escape.   
  
“I will give you one hour.”   
  
The words were so impossible, Riza would not have believed him had she not seen him speak.  _ He’s letting me go?  _ Her eyes flicked over to the pack at his feet, then to the surrounding trees, then to him. For a moment, she thought she saw a soft smile tease at the edges of his lips, but it must have been some trick - an illusion cast by firelight. “One hour for what?” she said slowly.   
  
He shrugged. “Run. Set traps. Find a weapon. It doesn’t matter to me.”   
  
Riza gathered her feet below her and awkwardly stood. Her legs still felt heavy from the sedative, but she found her balance easily enough. She rocked from foot to foot, testing her strength and waking the muscles in her calves. “Why?” Why are you doing this?   
  
He suddenly seemed interested in the knife’s blade. He frowned slightly, running his thumb over the edge. “My reasons are my own.”   
  
It was a trap. It had to be. Why would he chase her this long only to let her go? But the part of her that kept her alive all these years - the half-starved, scrappy survivor in her - demanded she take the chance. Riza chewed her lower lip. “Untie me first.”   
  
The hunter glanced up at her, a lazy smile growing on her face. “My, my,” he murmured. “Demanding.”   
  
“Do it.”   
  
The smile spread, warming his eyes for the first time. He cocked his head, seeming to size her up, before striding up to her. He took each step with infinitesimal slowness, drawing them out with painful lethargy. Riza stood her ground. She refused to show the fear that dwelt inside her - the fear that was only his. She had to stay focused; it did no good to let him know how helpless and vulnerable she felt.    
  
Her hunter was so close - closer than she’d allowed him in months. He stood only inches from her now, his nose hardly a hand’s width from hers, eyes blacker than night. Riza drew a sharp breath as he brought his arms around her as though to draw her into an embrace. Instead he took hold of the rope that bound her wrists in one hand, using the knife with the other to slash through it.   
  
The bindings were loose in only a few moments. They fell to the forest floor with a soft, heavy sound. Neither seemed to notice, neither dared move. The hunter’s smile turned crooked - more a smirk than anything. He lingered near her for an uncomfortable breath before drawing away, tossing the knife into the air and catching it with ease. Riza took a step back and rubbed her wrists. Her fingers tingled uncomfortably, but they’d work just fine.    
  
Her legs itched. She wanted to run - now. But she could be miles from the nearest city. She needed supplies. Almost against her will, Riza glanced at the pack, now conveniently situated at the hunter’s feet. He seemed to notice, because he nudged it with one toe.   
  
“You can have it,” he said. He was mocking her. She couldn’t bear to look at his face. “It’s yours.”   
  
“I know it’s mine,” she said hotly. She paused for two heartbeats before adding, “I want the knife, too.”   
  
He laughed. At first Riza drew back, frightened by the impossible sound. She never thought him capable of such a thing. It was richer than she imagined, more full and real than she would have guessed. It did not align with the cold man she’d grown to hate. “Fine,” he said. He flipped the blade so the handle faced out towards her. “One hour. Starting now. Stop wasting your time as well as mine.”   
  
Riza hesitated. The knife and pack were there, waiting for her. She only had to take it. Her legs itched to run; a familiar sensation that kept her alive innumerable times. She took a hesitant step forward.   
  
“Better hurry,” he said. “Clock is ticking.” He looked impatient and almost... eager.   
  
She growled and strode up to him, stooping to pick up her pack - all the while ready to skitter away like a frightened animal. She straightened and threw the bag over her shoulder. Then she paused, eyes slowly drawing towards the knife, now within reach.   
  
“Take it,” he said. He had not moved.   
  
Her eyes darted up to his. She could not read him now; his eyes were back to the piercing black she knew so well. His face was an impassive mask, neither eager nor angry. Though as she hesitantly reached for the knife, he thought she detected a note of sadness in him. The weapon was heavy and familiar in her hand.   
  
Her fingers itched. Cold certainty dropped in her stomach. Riza stared at the knife and its bitter, sharp edge.   
  
The hunter shifted impatiently. “Now,” he said. “You only have an hour - ngh!” His words cut off in a strangled cry. Riza gasped and stumbled away, watching in horror as he fell to his knees, clutching his side with one hand. In the firelight, she could see red welling between his fingers and the dull shine of a knife blade jutting from his belly. Riza cried out, shocked. Even she was surprised at what she’d done.   
  
She stabbed him.


	5. Part 1, Chapter 4: A Hasty Decision

Branches whipped her face as she fled through the forest. The road was near unnavigable, made only more dark by clouds above. She ran with no direction; only a few minutes ago she woke to a starless night in a clearing she did not know. He could have brought her anywhere while she was unconscious. She could be miles from where he found her. She could only assume he took her somewhere remote, where she would find no easy means of escape or discovery.  
  
She left him dying in the clearing. Riza saw belly wounds before; she knew how they killed. By tomorrow he would be gone and she would be rid of him forever. Still, even knowing this, she turned and fled without a backwards glance. She learned long ago it was a mistake to assume she was safe. 

The memory of it was branded into her mind, clear even now to her waking eyes. Her mind dwelled on how blood streamed from between his fingers, soaking into his clothes, more red than she had ever seen. The blinding shine of the knife. And his face, with its cold calculating clarity. His mask cracked when she stabbed him. His expression was twisted, shocked. He never expected her to use her newfound freedom against him. He expected her to run, as she always did.   
  
Her breath caught in her throat. It had been at least a day since she last ate. Her whole body ached from the incident with the stranger in the road. It seemed as though it happened ages ago. As she ran, exhaustion like a wet cape dragged at her legs and shoulders. But the instinct to flee was so ingrained in her by now, she pressed forward. Though she knew he lay dying - by her hand, by her steel - a part of her could still feel him following. Even his memory haunted her.  
  
Riza stumbled over a cluster of rocks, muffling her cry so he would not hear. She paused, gasping for air. What was she thinking? He would not hear. Never again would she have to worry he might appear around the next corner. She would not need to set traps, hide bells on ropes in the forest to give her the few seconds’ warning to let her slip away. She could sleep through the night now, unafraid. What a strange liberty. What an unexpected escape.  
  
Her hands trembled, and this time she was not sure it was from her frantic flight through the trees. A new kind of fear washed over her: a feeling of freedom that was almost dizzying. She felt as though she’d leapt off the edge of a cliff, unhindered and unsure of what might come next. Riza never realized how accustomed she was to his constant presence. She always thought of him as her shadow, but she never realized how right she was.  
  
Riza reached out with one hand to lean against a nearby tree. She felt so strange, as though she left some essential part of her behind. There was a new emptiness left in a place she did not know existed. The pack hung heavy against her back and sweat soaked her shirt. She had everything she needed to survive; she was missing nothing. All the things she lost were returned to her. She could start over.  
  
Except the knife. She left that behind. She could not bring herself to touch the thing - could not bear to pull it from his side. The thought it was too visceral for her, too real. Besides, there would be other knives. Riza stared down at her red-stained fingers, unable to believe what she had done. She was capable of so much more than she realized. She could kill. She knew that now.  
  
She turned to peer back in the direction she left him. A few branches swung gently, marking the place where she passed. She could see the barest flicker of flame through the dense wall of trees. She imagined him there alone, drawing his final breaths. She imagined his blood tainting the earth and the forest crowding his decaying body. And suddenly Riza was filled with an intense sense of lacking - an emptiness she could not explain. She left things incomplete; she had something she had yet to do. She had to watch him die.

Almost unwittingly, she started back towards the hunter. The rational part of her mind screamed at her to stop, but she would never be able to truly rest unless she knew.

The night was cool, but warmth climbed her neck as she made her way through the forest. An old, aching fear began to tease at the back of her mind. What if he wasn’t as injured as she thought? What if he was lying in wait for her, ready to strike? The air suddenly seemed thick, filled with looming threat. He was still alive. She knew it.  
  
Riza’s steps slowed as she drew nearer to the camp, but heard nothing but the occasional pop of firewood. The flickering light only made it that much harder to see, casting moving shadows over the grass and trees. Her heart lurched several times as she crouched outside the clearing; the light cast shapes that looked like a man to her fear-crazed mind. But nothing stirred. The place where she left him was empty but for a wide smear of blood.  
  
Riza stepped forward hesitantly, pausing to scoop a rock from the forest floor. The stone fit nicely in the palm of her hand, and it had a sharp edge should she need it. Her eyes were drawn to a dark trail on the grass. The blades shone red. He bled here - recently. Riza hefted her makeshift weapon, carefully sidling around the edge of the fire.  
  
He had not gotten far - no more than ten paces from where he likely collapsed. He lay on his belly, one arm reaching toward a leather pack just outside the light. He was not moving; she could not even see the rise and fall of his chest. His outstretched hand was deathly pale and still. For a moment she thought he was unconscious - perhaps even dead. But he stirred as she approached, letting out a low, guttural moan that filled her with fear. Even now, injured as he was, he could be dangerous.  
  
The hunter rolled clumsily to his back, one hand clutching the wound in his side. The knife was still embedded deeply and blood soaked his shirt and pants. Even from a distance, Riza could tell removing it would almost surely cost him his life. The blade was the only thing keeping him from bleeding out in minutes. Riza hovered outside the circle of light, uncertain. The hunter lay still and panting with eyes closed. She was just about to approach when he turned his head to face her. He knew she was there the entire time.  
  
Riza drew a deep breath through her nose and started toward him, rock raised in one hand. The hunter did not move or speak, but his eyes glittered feverishly as she neared. He looked more like a wounded animal to her now than a man. Her fear rose. Beasts were known to strike most fiercely in the end. But still she approached, moving her feet carefully so as not to stumble. She was panting by the time she stood over him. He was near death, but it did not diminish the sense of threat. It seemed wrong to fear something so weak.  
  
“You,” the hunter whispered through parched lips. It seemed to take all his strength to speak.  
  
Riza stared down at him, rock still poised in one hand. “I want answers.”  
  
“Answers?” he choked on the word. A fresh trickle of blood poured from his side.  
  
She nodded curtly. “Why have you been following me all this time?”  
  
“I’m -” he coughed again; this time blood flecked his lips. “- a hunter.”  
  
Riza’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.” She dropped to her haunches, close enough to smell the metallic tang of his blood. “Why would you let me go?”  
  
The hunter turned his head away from her before looking down to where the knife jutted from his side. Determination stole over his face, and Riza watched in horror as he reached to grasp the handle.  
  
“What are you doing?” she gasped. She almost outstretched her hand to stop him before she caught herself. “Stop,” she said, but she was not sure if she was talking to herself or her hunter.  
  
The man winced as his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt. He took a steadying breath and began to tug the weapon from his side. The blade barely moved a quarter of an inch before he cried out and his hand dropped to the ground. New blood poured from the wound. The hunter tipped his head back and closed his eyes, letting out a bitter, wheezing laugh.  
  
“What are you doing?” she seethed. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”  
  
He looked at her, and she was again struck by the blackness of his eyes. It was more than just their color - it was so much deeper than that. It went far down to a place she could not see. His gaze drifted up to the rock in her hand and a small smile teased at his bloodied lips. “I... would never... deprive you... the pleasure.”  
  
“Shut up,” she hissed.  
  
The hunter’s lids fluttered closed. “I wasn’t... I don’t...” He could barely get words out between his agonal breaths. “I was trying... to live.”  
  
“Why should I let you live after you tortured me all these years?”  
  
“You’re right…” He turned his head away from her slightly. “I do… have… answers.”  
  
Riza’s hand clenched over the rock. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to bring the thing down on his head. “I’m supposed to believe that? That you suddenly have answers?”  
  
The hunter made a move as though to shrug, but grimaced insead. “Believe... what you want.”  
  
She bit her lip, thinking of a hundred cold sleepless nights. Dozens of days without food or water. Years without companionship. There were so many unanswered questions. So many things that she needed to know - to understand. “What do you know?”  
  
The hunter swallowed thickly. His breathing was getting more rapid and his skin grew paler by the second. “Help... and... tell... you...”  
  
“Why should I help you?” Riza said. “I hate you. My life was ruined the day I met you.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she swiped them away angrily. “I hate you!”  
  
“I know.” he said. His stare was steady - unabiding. He did not look away even as blood began to pool against his side.  
  
“Why?” she whispered. The stone slid from her hand and rolled against her thigh. “What do you want from me?”  
  
The hunter’s face spasmed with emotions too complex for her to understand. An instant later it was gone, replaced by a dispassionate mask. He closed his eyes, the next words coming out with great effort. “My pack... gloves... need.”  
  
Riza glanced up to the leather satchel, not more than an arm’s length away. This was the thing he was trying to reach when she first entered the clearing. She chewed her lower lip for a few long seconds before stepping past him and taking hold of the bag. It did not take much searching before she found a pair of white gloves folded at the top, embroidered in scarlet with a strange symbol on the back. The material felt rough, as though woven from something stiffer than cotton or wool. The red thread sparked something in her, like some half-remembered dream. She was certain she had seen something like it long ago. Riza shook her head and hurried back to his side.  
  
“What are these?” she said, thrusting the gloves in front of his face. “What are they for?”  
  
For a time, he did not open his eyes. His face was lax, hovering between sleep and wakefulness. She feared he’d fallen unconscious, but then she saw his lids crack open. “Help... me...” The hunter’s hand moved weakly at his side.  
  
Riza sighed and reached forward to take hold of his wrist. A sick feeling of revulsion roiled in her stomach. Her skin burned to touch his. She could not believe she was helping her most bitter, hated enemy. The glove slipped on his hand with ease; they were clearly made specifically for him. She dropped his hand and leaned back on her heels as quickly as possible.  
  
“Okay,” she said. She tried not to suppress the growing anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. There was something about that symbol...  
  
“Take... it...” His voice was so faint she could hardly hear.  
  
She leaned in closer. “What?”  
  
“Take... it... out...”  
  
Riza’s eyes drifted down to the knife. The handle was black now, covered in flakes of dry blood. Metal peeked out between the cracks, reflecting the firelight without warmth. “You want me to take out the knife?”  
  
The hunter merely coughed something that sounded like ‘yes.’  
  
“You’ll die.”  
  
His eyes opened fully, this time full of desperate fury. “Now!” he choked.  
  
Started into action, Riza reached out to take hold of the grip. The hunter jolted at her touch but quickly he lay still, his face pinched into a look of concentration. At his side, his gloved fingers curled against his thumb. Riza drew in a deep breath, clasping one hand over the other before she began to pull. It caught on his flesh as she drew it out, tearing the skin more. He screamed, tossing his head from side to side, but he did not curl away. Riza gritted her teeth and pulled harder. The hunter’s cries rose, echoing hollowly through the trees. She did not know how he managed to remain conscious; the pain must have been excruciating. After what seemed like ages, the last few inches of the blade slid out of his side, and with it came a new gush of blood.  
  
“Get back!” he shouted hoarsely. The pain seemed to have roused him, his eyes were open and his gloved hand was raised.  
  
Riza scrambled backwards on all fours, staring at the hunter with ever widening eyes. Something in the air seemed to crackle. Everything solid began to warp. Reality bent. Time stopped. The hair at the back of her neck stood up, sending prickles racing over her skin. Light wreathed the hunter’s glove and electricity sparked over the red embroidery at its back. The man grunted, staring intently at the wound in his side before he snapped his fingers.  
  
It was impossible. It could not be true. Flames sprung from thin air, perfectly focused in one place like a beam. It arced through the space between his glove and wound with near-surgical precision. And the hunter controlled it. Sweat sprang from his brow as he stared, intent on the fire that raced over his skin, cauterizing his wound. Flesh popped, blood boiled, but still he remained focused. Riza looked on, fascinated. Horrified.  
  
As suddenly as it began, the flames disappeared. The hunter slumped to the ground, already beginning to fade. The wound in his side blazed an angry red, but the bleeding had stopped. By some arcane miracle, he saved his own life. Riza swore and stumbled to his side. She took hold of the front of his shirt and lifted him from the ground. The hunter groaned softly; he hardly had the strength to lift his own head.  
  
“How?” she shouted. “How did you do that?”  
  
The hunter mumbled something unintelligible.  
  
Riza shook him violently. She did not care if she reopened the wound. “Who are you? What was that?”  
  
His eyes were misty and unfocused when he finally managed to open them. “Berthold,” he sighed before slumping bonelessly in her grasp. His body slipped from her nerveless fingers.  
  
Riza was so shocked she hardly noticed. “No,” she whispered. “It can’t be.”


	6. Part 1, Chapter 5: Ministrations

She sat by his side a long time before she found the strength to move. The world around her seemed to spin, turning in on itself, black turned to white. She could no longer rely on the truth she knew - somewhere, somehow there were lies. And like a ship lost at sea, she struggled to stay afloat. Who was this man, and how did he know her father? Why did he follow her, chase her,  _ hurt  _ her for two long years without saying so?   
  
His was pale, even in the amber glow of the fire - a man carved from wax. But the flickering shadows seemed to force some life into his still face. Even now he remained on a precipice; he could die at any time. And he would, if she allowed it to happen. Infection set in quickly with an untended wound, and his method to tamp the flow of blood was barbaric at best. But the thought letting him fade seemed impossible now. She could not let him die, not after he uttered her father’s name, who she long thought dead. Riza leaned back on her heels and considered the man laid out before her. It was hard for her to wrestle with the impossible - that she helped the hunter who tried to catch her countless times. From this, there was no turning back. He baited her with what he knew and now she was caught - a desperate, pitiful fool. Stuck with a dying man she desperately needed to keep alive.   
  
She knew how to dress wounds. She trained as a soldier before she became a diplomat and was somewhat versed in field medicine. It came in handy the many times she was forced to hastily tamp bleeding so as not to leave a trail for her hunter or one of the others. The first few hours were critical; open wounds had to be cleaned and covered without delay. The burn complicated things. He seared it closed, leaving whatever dirt or debris he picked up during his desperate crawl toward his pack. Infected belly wounds were notoriously slow killers. The worst was not over.   
  
His shirt was already torn, so it was a small thing to rip it from him. The cloth was sodden with his blood, covered in dirt and leaves, and his skin was stained pink when she peeled it away. Parts of it were burned into the wound, but he didn’t make a sound as she slowly tugged it off his charred flesh. A sickly sweet scent permeated the air. Riza grimaced and tried to breathe through her mouth.   
  
Water. She needed clean water. She recalled the sound of it as she fled; there must have been a stream nearby. Riza cast her eyes around the unmade camp, searching for something she might use to collect it. His pack lay only a few steps away. She could not recall standing or even walking, but soon she felt smooth leather beneath her hands. She took hold of his bag without thinking - without a moment’s hesitation - but as her fingers brushed over the brass clasp, she found she could not open it again.    
  
She knew why. There was no telling what she might find inside when she truly explored its depths - what she might learn of him. She was not ready to know his truths. Riza did not wish to become intimate with the things he held dear, to know if he had family or friends who cared for him. She would never be able to reconcile a man with her monster. She sighed and put the bag aside. There had to be another way. She had a waterskin and a tiny cooking pot in the pack he returned to her. It would have to do for now.   
  
The stream was not far and filled with fresh, clean water. She made quick work of boiling it and cleaning his wound. His face twitched as she poured the still-hot liquid over his skin but nothing more. She stripped away his shirt and cut the clean parts into strips. Then she returned to the forest.   
  
Her father, a respected scientist, taught her how to mix herbs to make a poultice when she was young, but that was long ago. She could not remember many of the subtleties of herblore. She was not gifted as her father was, and like many other things, he gave up teaching her when she did not show aptitude. But she did the best with what she had: comfrey leaves for healing, calendula flowers to stave off infection, some ash and water to make it thick and smooth. It was the extent of her knowledge, and it worked on her minor wounds in the past. Riza thought of these things as she ground the ingredients in her well-worn pot. If only her father were here now. Perhaps he could explain why he abandoned her so long ago. She spread the mixture thickly over the hunter’s side and covered it with the cloth strips.   
  
Her job done, she sat at the opposite end of the fire - as far from him as possible. He was so harmless now: uncovered, vulnerable as only sleep makes one vulnerable. It seemed impossible that he was the one that terrorized her for so long. His face was peaceful, smooth and untroubled. Riza suddenly realized she’d never seen him this way before. His expression was always stormy when he hunted her, like a looming swell of ocean.   
  
The fire died. Though the dimming light, Riza could see his breaths begin to shudder in misty clouds. He was shivering as the night chill set in. She watched the ebb and flow of his breathing a long time before she compelled herself to move. The hunter’s bedroll was still buckled neatly to the side of his pack. Riza unfurled it, nose wrinkling at how it released the smell of him. She tucked it around his body as close as she dared. It felt wrong. It felt ridiculous. But it seemed pointless to question things now. That time passed when she turned around in the forest, and now she could only wait for him to wake before she could allow herself to doubt again. Sighing, Riza pulled a tatty blanket from her own pack, tossed a few more logs on the fire, and curled up to sleep.   
  
-o-o-o-   
  
Cloud-shrouded moon was halfway across the sky when something roused her. Months of practice and too many close calls forced her to become a light sleeper, and for nearly two years she woke at the slightest sound. Riza rolled to a crouch in an instant, eyes already scanning the edges of the forest. Nothing stirred in the darkness, but she heard a moan near the fire. It was then that she realized she woke to the sound of his voice.   
  
His face shone with a sheen of sweat and his lips moved silently as she approached. Riza let out a long breath through her teeth. She knelt at his side and pushed his fringe up with one hand. His skin was hot, his hair damp. He was burning with fever.   
  
“Shit,” Riza murmured, leaning closer. His breathing was shallow and his lips parched to the point of cracking. She carefully peeled back the blanket and swore again when she felt the heaviness of it; the thing was drenched in sweat. The hunter’s belly hardly moved when he breathed and as she laid her hand on it, he moaned and tossed his head. “Shit,” she said again. His stomach felt tight as a drum.   
  
The hunter mumbled something; words too soft and garbled for her to understand. His eyes cracked open and he stared at her with glittering, feverish eyes. Riza felt something move at her side: one of his hands, fingers limp and fluttering, clinging to her clothes like a burr. She saw his mouth move in a single, unmistakable word: “Water.”   
  
She had seen something like this once in the past. One of the boys in the village where she grew up had broken his leg so badly the bone broke through the skin. Though she was only a child, she understood what that meant in a small town, far from the sophisticated city medicines. Even with her father’s skilled ministrations, the infection took hold of the boy in a matter of days. He burned with an unremitting fever they could not control. In the end, the poor boy began having convulsions. Even now, Riza could remember how the foam dripped from his pale, still lips.   
  
Riza frowned and leaned over his body to take hold of the waterskin she left at his side, bothered by how the feel of his fingers seemed to linger on her hip. He was fading quickly, and if she did not do something to help him now, he would not last the night. “Here,” she said, uncorking the top and thrusting it in his face. “Take it.”   
  
The hunter swallowed thickly and stared at the waterskin for an unfathomable amount of time. His hand slid from his side, skimming over his belly until it rested on his chest. The fingers lifted no more than an inch off his skin: a pathetic attempt at a thing he could not reach. Riza let out an impatient sigh and rose slightly to lean over him. She pressed the opening to his lips.   
  
“Drink,” she said as she tipped the bag. A thin stream of water trickled into his mouth. She watched his throat bob once with the first mouthful, but soon it leaked out from the corner of his lips and he began to sputter weakly. Most of the water spilled out on his chin. Riza cursed and leaned back. If she wasn’t careful, she could pour the stuff right into his lungs. She set the waterskin aside and studied him. His eyes were closed now but his lips moved in a delirious murmur. She would have to prop him up to get him to drink.   
  
She took a deep, calming breath and reached for another herb, yarrow, which she ground into a pulp and set aside earlier that night. Her father taught her the plant was good for fevers, though she’d never tried it herself. She scooped two fingerfuls of the green slop and - with a grimace - smeared it on the back of the hunter’s tongue. His eyelids fluttered, but nothing more.   
  
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered, shuffling around him so her knees rested on each side of his head. “I swear, if you end up surviving this, I’ll...” She paused. She was sure what she would do. The only thing she knew for certain now was that she would never be his victim again. She freed herself from him the instant she plunged the knife into his side and drew it out again. “Stupid man,” she growled, slipping her hands beneath his shoulders and tucking them under his arms.   
  
He was heavy, despite all appearances. Riza grunted as she slid his body towards her, up the slope of her knees. She heaved again and drew his back against her chest, so his head leaned against her shoulder. His groans grew louder. She couldn't blame him. The movement was sure to pull at his belly and the pain must have been excruciating. Her lips drew into a determined line and she reached for the waterskin one last time. With a flick of her thumb, the top was off.   
  
“Drink,” she said again, snaking one hand under his arm to take hold of his chin. She used the other to place the opening on his lips. She felt his breath shudder against her chest; his skin was hotter than the fire nearby. His pulse bounded under her fingers. “Drink, goddamnit.” Riza tipped the skin again and felt water dribble over her hand. The man began to sputter and cough.

Riza let out a shuddering breath. What was she doing? Why was she helping this repulsive man? The sound of her father’s name echoed through her head. How did Flame know him? It had been many years since she thought of her father, and all she could remember was his distance and reclusiveness. He left the military before she was born, but spent many long nights away from his family. She remembered fearing him as a child - his long, somber face never smiled or showed warmth.

Drawing another breath, Riza tipped the flask again, more slowly this time. The man seemed to understand the cue, slurping thirstily at the water. Riza watched the rise and fall of his throat for some time, thinking of the many times she dreamed of strangling him. She would see him through this thing, then would get her answers. Then she would dispose of him, once and for all. And at last she could rest.

He seemed to be responding to the coolness for the water, because his swallows became smoother, more deliberate. The rise and fall of his chest slowed and she felt the tightness in his muscles ease somewhat. His face was relaxed again and she felt his body loosen into the innervation of sleep. He stopped drinking, his head lolling against her shoulder. Riza was just about to ease him back to the ground when she felt him stir. 

“Riza.”

She flinched reflexively at the sound of her own name, scooting out from under him as though burned by fire. She scuttled backward awkwardly, moving as far from him as she could on hands and heels. In moments she had retreated to the other side of the fire. She watched him from across the flames. His pale face seemed alive, animated by the ghosting flicker of fire. There were hallows under his eyes, and his lids danced fitfully. He did not speak again.

Riza wished she could triumph in this moment, she wished she could revel in the victory of it. She was alive and in control for the first time in ages. But instead she felt more lost and afraid. Who was this man, truly? Why did he never stop? What did he know about her - about her father?

Sighing, she turned to her pack and drew out her bedroll, spreading it close to the warming fire. Sleep would likely not come to her tonight, but at least she could rest. 

At least she had that.


End file.
